


The Chains That Bind Us

by BlueMonkey, ThornyHedge



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dubcon Kissing, Dubious Consent, Giant Spiders, M/M, Mental Coercion, Prison, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMonkey/pseuds/BlueMonkey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge/pseuds/ThornyHedge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thorin and his injured, starving company are taken into custody by the Elves and placed in Mirkwood prison, an unlikely relationship begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Imprisoned

**Author's Note:**

> And we're off on another adventure with Thorny and Blue! It's *mostly* canon, we swear. 
> 
> Kili, Thranduil and assorted company members written by BlueMonkey.
> 
> Thorin, Fili and assorted company members written by ThornyHedge.

The band of dwarves was starving. 

Nobody came to feed them, as they traveled further off the main road they had been told over and over not to leave, lest disaster befall them, and they became desperate for a sign of life. 

The only company they had were the spiders; whenever they turned their backs, they could feel beady eyes follow their course. They seemed to shy from the light—but there wasn't enough light in these woods to be safe all the time.

It was when they thought they could go no further, weary of days without proper food and lack of sleep, that they saw the wisps. Red, dancing like a show of merry fireflies, they popped from the floor and seemed to grow in frequency a little further down into the forest.

Bombur, who'd awoken from his sleep none the happier, was the first to follow his instinct. The company nearly lost sight of him. It wasn't because Bombur was that fast; it was that they were all slow, and even more reluctant to follow deeper into this forest of death and deception.

"Aye!" they heard him shout, "Food!"

That set feet moving. Before long, the company of dwarves and one hobbit beheld a sight they thought they'd never see. Weak and tired of their long, directionless wander in the woods, the large dining table made from willow and sprouted directly from the ground—that nevertheless looked like it had been there for centuries—bore venison, berries, and silver chalices that smelled deliciously of a deep red wine.

Autumn was upon the world, and it reflected itself in the host that had gathered around the table, wearing the palette of the withering trees in their attire. They were alien to the dwarves; they were tall and spoke in syllables familiar yet incomprehensible.

"Elves," Balin looked on.

"Elves?" Gloin and Oin moved to his side and peered.

_"Elves,"_ bristled Thorin. "Do not go near. They will not help us."

It was too late for that. Bombur stumbled into the clearing. Promptly, the lights went out and the host was gone. So was the food.

"What have you done?!" Dori promptly wailed. "They had food!"

"If we see them again," said Ori, "I'll ask if they might give us some. They looked like they had enough. I'm sure they wouldn't mind, right?"

But when they saw the wisps again, the same thing happened. Blinded by hunger, they stepped into the circle and in the darkness that followed, all they could hear was the hungry clicking of spiders.

It was the third time that the darkness swallowed them whole, that Thorin fell missing.

It was the third time that the spiders charged.

\- - - - - 

Kili awoke to hands prodding his face.

"Ge'roff me," he protested weakly, trying to raise his hand to push the intrusion away. He felt sick and lethargic, and began to panic when he found he couldn't move his hands. He couldn't move at all! 

"Kili," Bilbo's stern voice broke through his hazy consciousness, "stop struggling! You're trapped in a spider cocoon and I'm trying to free you."

"A c-cocoon?" the young dwarf gasped weakly, and realized he was looking up at the hobbit through a thin veil of white. He couldn't remember anything.

"Yes, a cocoon," Bilbo confirmed. "You were bitten, all of you, in fact, and hung up like so much meat in a pantry. I need you to help me free the others, so please, stay still."

Kili did as he was told. He was so sick and exhausted that the notion of struggling only made him more nauseous. Of course, that nausea could have also come from the fact that the company hadn't eaten in many a day. 

Then, Bilbo's hand made contact with a very tender spot on his shoulder, and it all came back to him. Dragged through the brush by a large black chittering creature. A sharp pain in his shoulder. Then, nothing.

"K-killed them?" was all Kili could manage.

"Mostly," was Bilbo's response. "Many of them. Others ran off," he explained. With a grunt, he pulled the webbing away from Kili's left arm. "Can you move your hand, Kili?" the hobbit patted the extremity.

Slowly, Kili opened and closed his hand, but he felt as if his arm were miles long and the instructions were taking forever to reach the other end. "So dizzy," he told Bilbo.

"Yes, I imagine you are," Bilbo started cutting his other arm loose. "I've opened three cocoons so far and you're the first I've found awake. Your brother still hasn't stirred."

"Fee?" Kili tried to sit up.

"No," Bilbo forced him supine with a firm hand. "Not yet. He'll keep. You're ill." 

As if to confirm this, a wave of nausea rose and Kili felt bile rising in his gorge. 

"Good thing we haven't eaten," Kili weakly tried to joke. "Nothing to puke up."

"There's always a silver lining," Bilbo chuckled. "I'm going to need you to help me free the others, my boy, so steel yourself."

"C-can they breathe?" the youngest of the dwarrow wondered. 

"It would seem so," Bilbo told him. "Enough to stay alive, at least."

Kili let out a groan as he tried to raise his freed right hand. His injured shoulder protested the movement, but he was eager to help Bilbo cut his comrades free. 

An hour later found all of the dwarves free of their cocoons, but two remained unresponsive—Ori and Fili. Bilbo reasoned that it was due to their smaller size and the potency of the venom. This, of course, did little to console their worried family members.   
"We're going to have to get moving out of this Aulë-forsaken forest," Bofur's voice was not as strong as Kili would have liked it to be. "We'll build a litter, or carry them if we have to."

"We're all so weak, Bofur," Balin cautioned. "I can barely stand, let alone carry one of the lads."

"Then I'll carry _you_ , nadad," Dwalin assured him, but he didn't sound very convincing.

"We're not all strong enough to travel," Dori surmised, again checking his youngest sibling for signs of life, as Ori seemed to be awakening at last. 

"We'll have to be," Bilbo told them. "This is the spiders' lair, and those I didn’t slay won't stay away much longer. They'll return, hungry and angry. We won't want to be here for that. We need to move as soon as possible." He approached Kili, who'd pulled his unconscious brother against him protectively. "I'll help you carry Fili," he told the youngest heir.

Kili, still feeling weak as a kitten, put up little argument. He rose unsteadily to his feet and slipped his arms under Fili's shoulders to pick him up, then wobbled and fell unceremoniously back onto his rump. Under normal circumstances, the rest of them would have found it rather amusing. Except that they were all equally helpless. Kili struggled back to his feet.

"Come, Bilbo," he said with resolve, "I'm ready now."

"Good lad," Bilbo nodded, slipping under Fili's other arm so they could support him between them.

Step by painfully slow step, the company made its way out of the spiders' lair and back into Mirkwood proper. 

Surely, Bilbo reasoned, someone up ahead would be able to feed them. They might even have an anti-venom.

The forest stretched on for miles in every direction. Their senses weakened, they had no way of knowing if they weren't doubling back on themselves. Sometimes, the area seemed awkwardly familiar.

The spiders came closer. It wasn't hard to discover them back on their tracks. That very night—as dark as the morning, and the afternoon—Bifur's eyes went big as he peered into the darkness. They promptly got up and continued to move, but they were slow, and tired.

Only a few hours later came the next attack.

"Fili!" Kili called after his brother in distress after he stumbled weakly over a branch, and a large black monster swooped on top of him. "Fili, no!" He tried to fend the creature off with his sword, but he was too weak to make a dent.

That's when the others came. Larger in number, and infinitely more angry this time around, they swarmed the loose phalanx that the dwarves had pulled up, Bilbo in their midst. Nobody noticed it when he put on the ring and vanished. One after another, the spawn of Shelob avanced on them. For every wave that was miraculously beaten down, a stronger one emerged.

They were losing.

Mirkwood would be their end, long before a dragon could.

As one after another struggled to stay alive, and fell to the spiders instead, only few were still standing when the faint drone of a horn sounded in the distance. The spiders heard it too. They stilled and turned their heads in the direction of the sound. When nothing followed in its wake, they continued on.

An arrow felled the arachnid that was about to swoop down on Ori.

Those still alert saw how a volley of yellow-fletched arrows, bright like the morning sun, followed.

The remaining dwarves succumbed before the elves were upon them.

\- - - - - 

When Fili awoke, there was nothing but pain. His swollen right thigh thudded in time with his heartbeat and his throat was a dry husk. The last thing he remembered was being bitten a second time, in the same blasted spot as the first. He groaned. It was dark and torchlight flickered. He didn't panic until he realized he was alone...and behind bars.

"Kili?" he croaked, then cleared his throat. "Kili?" 

Silence answered him.

All around him were the sounds of the forest—as a forest should be. He heard scurrying mice, and the faint whistling of the wind. Above all, he thought he could hear the bustle of a world around him. But he couldn't see.

"Fili?" a disembodied voice drifted in through the bars. It sounded like a chant, so weak that maybe he was just imagining it; a spectral shadow of a world to which it did not belong.

Then the world went again silent.

Fili tried to sit up, but dizziness rapidly overtook him and blackness encroached on his vision. "No," he whispered to himself, lowering his forehead to the floor and taking deep breaths to stave off the unconsciousness threatening to claim him. "No. W-who's out there?" he asked weakly.

Nobody answered, but the forest floor underneath him, littered with leaves of a thousand shades of blue, red and orange, rolled like a calm sea and undulated beneath him.

Two tall creatures passed the bars outside his cell. They did not stop to look at him, for they had other destinations. One whispered to the other like he didn't want to be overheard. It was pointless. None of their newest prisoners could understand.

As their steps faded and swelled in sound for others in the vast dungeon plan underneath the forest, Kili perked up from the floor of his own cell. 

"Hello?" he called. No answer. "Hello? Is anyone there? What's going on? Can anyone tell—" he bit off his sentence, his eyes wide with fear at the unfamiliar surroundings. His bow and swords had been taken from him, and he was left defenseless in a world where he felt disoriented. 

Spiders. Fili remembered being bitten. It had to be the venom playing games with his mind. Was he here? Was he even free from the webbing? He remembered being half-carried, half-dragged between his brother and Bilbo. Then, he was tackled from behind by something heavy. Aulë, was he even awake, or just hanging somewhere waiting to become a spider's meal?

The footsteps of the two shadows died away from his hearing.

With faintly swaying hips and shoulders always on one level, the two silhouettes looked around. One spoke of something to the other before they passed a door into the darker parts of the dungeon. In the middle of an isolated large room, mossy like it was directly under a tree and with a single shaft of light bearing down, sat a hunched figure.

"Thorin," one of the shadows sighed. He ran one hand down a bare shoulder. "Son of Thror, son of Thrain. To what do we owe this honor?"

Despite having been stripped of everything but his smallclothes and long pants, Thorin still raised his head slowly and proudly. He was hungry, exhausted, terrified...but none of that could be intimated to his captors.

"I am but traveling, alone, and in search of food," he said aloud, locking eyes with Thranduil, trying hard not to show contempt. He'd already told him this several times, yet the questions never changed.

"Traveling?" The tall elf looked down on him, as Thorin was in no position to crane his head up to meet the gaze. He kept himself properly out of range from the savage dwarf and looked at the animal his men had brought in. The image did not match with that of the throneless prince beseeching him for help, so long ago.

"To what destination would you be traveling that you seek to cross my domain, dwarf?"

"I have done nothing _but_ travel since I was forced by cruel fate from my home. You know this."

"But never have you wandered into these woods."

"A foolish choice, I will admit. A poor attempt at a shortcut I have come to regret."

Thranduil crouched in front of him and raised Thorin's chin. His hands touched him like they were defiled by the mere touch, though his eyes spoke of a curiosity.

"You lie," he whispered so that only the two of them could hear. "You will tell me, be it today or in a hundred years. I have time on my side. And your nephews. Alone, you said. I could make you alone."

Thorin swallowed audibly. "I _am_ alone," he reiterated, but not with as much conviction.

At once the king of the woodland realm raised himself to his full height. "We'll see what you say about that tomorrow. I'll pay them each a visit. Perhaps they're able to tell me more about your purpose than you feel inclined to tell me. Good day, master dwarf."

With the same coldness, he turned on his heels and left Thorin to the darkness.

When Thorin was sure he'd gone, his head sank to his chest, hands fisted. "No," he breathed. "Please, no."

The silence that greeted him was deafening.

\- - - - - 

Kili's eyes were still drooping from a nap when the door to his cell was wrenched open. He had figured that, since they'd be in here for awhile and were still not spun in a spider's cocoon or otherwise prepared to be eaten, he needed to pass the time in a way that did not involve thinking about the many other ways in which he could die.

A figure, dwarven in stature by the sound of the thud it made, was thrown into the pitch black cell, the door closed with a sound that dictated impossibility to break. Half drunk on sleep and venom, Kili scrambled into the corner.

That was, until he realized who this stranger was.

"Fili?"

"Nadadith?" Fili asked weakly. "Is it really you? I—I have been hallucinating it seems."

"If you are, it's me who shares your dreams," Kili pushed himself forward and let his fingertips fill in the blanks that the darkness did not allow his vision to provide. He laughed in relief. "It's so good to have you with me, brother. How are you? Have they treated you alright?"

"Kili!" Fili pulled his sibling to him and held him as tightly as he could. "Up until this moment I would have told you I was terrified and in pain. But suddenly, I feel...better. I was so frightened you'd been killed...or worse." He caressed his brother's face in the dark with one trembling hand.

Kili smiled into it, and made sure Fili's fingers mapped his smile. "I'm here. I don't know why you're here, but I'm glad you are. Wherever we are, they're not bad people. They give me good food, Fili." He pressed a kiss against his brother's temple, before masking it with a manly hug.

"My appetite has been poor, despite our lengthy hunger," Fili admitted. "They don't speak to me. Don't even look at me. I see only shadowy tall figures passing outside my cell. I only trust the water. Maybe you should too."

"They're _elves_ , Fili. They're the ones we saw in the woods." Kili hadn't been able to understand much more than that, but their company had been so eager for their meals before that he truly hadn't hesitated eating it. "I don't know why they've got us locked up, but I don't think they want to kill us."

He did feel slightly blurry in his head but, he thought, it was rather pleasant.

Fili sighed, still not totally on board with his brother's logic. "Have you seen Thorin or heard mention of him?"

Kili shook his head, his mouth around a piece of bread. He sounded more downcast. "Nothing. I don't think he's here. I think maybe the spiders... Maybe the elves came too late for him."

"No," Fili whimpered. "H-he can't be gone."

"I don't know," Kili looked down. "I really don't. But you know uncle. He might be standing with every spider dead around his feet, but lost as to where to go. I don't want to believe he is gone."

"Yes," Fili squeezed Kili's hand warmly. "Surely he's lost. And hopefully he'd found some food as well." He was silent for a moment, simply enjoying the physical contact after—well, how long? "I'm scared, Kee," he admitted.

His brother pulled him closer and wrapped his arms around him for courage.

"You're not alone." Though he could have said it to himself.

\- - - - - 

From the darkness of the hall outside, Thranduil smiled as he looked down. He knew how he was going to subjugate the dwarf king in the isolated cell. He didn't think it would be all that difficult. Thorin's blood was his pride, and so his pride could be his blood.

When he returned the following day, Thranduil sat in quietude in front of Thorin,just out of reach, for a long time. Thranduil was peaceful. He was going to wait until Thorin spoke to him.

Finally, the dwarf could bear it no longer. He was literally shaking with hunger. "Will you not begin your infernal questions, so I can have another day's peace?" he finally asked.

"If you acquire peace from my absence, I should change things around here." Thranduil looked down like a painting cracked from age, but still ageless. He pushed a plate forward. "We are no barbaric people, master dwarf," he said. "Eat. You look famished." 

Thranduil found that he loved the feeling of control he could exert over the same creature who had once looked at him so vilely. He wanted Thorin to eat; he wanted to be able to have that amount of power.

Once, Thranduil had bowed to this man and his father. Once, he had desired more than diplomacy. Now, finally, without home and without a throne, the prince in exile was his.

Thorin looked up at him coldly. "What trickery is this, elf? Poison? I would prefer a quick death, as you can well imagine."

"If I wanted you dead, I would have left you to the clutches of the spiders," Thranduil spoke. "I do not care if you refuse to eat. I merely intended to make sure you can still talk when you choose to. Shall I take it away?"

"You can understand my hesitance at eating anything you'd offer me," Thorin replied. The smell of the food caused his stomach to give a traitorous growl. "But, I am practical, if nothing else," he said, stalwartly, lifting a piece of bread to his mouth and taking a controlled bite. The taste exploded in his mouth like ambrosia.

Thranduil inclined his head. Inwardly, he felt a surge of accomplishment. The question at hand was beginning to be less and less interesting, now that he started thinking of other ways to exploit this. Nevertheless, he had to ask.

"Now, tell me finally. What are you doing in these woods?"

"I am traveling alone, seeking food," Thorin told him, around a mouthful of bread. "I thank you kindly for providing some." He made quick work of taking a pear and an apple from the offered tray, as well as a second hunk of bread.

Thranduil's patience was wearing thin. "Your nephews..." he started. "They're remarkably attached to each other, are they not? They know not that you're here. To them, you might have died. Let's play a game, shall we not? For every day in which you cease to answer me truthfully, I will push them further apart. If you give in, they'll not come to harm. If you resist, your blood will be the ones to suffer."

"If it's my sister's sons you speak of," Thorin said around a bite of apple, "they are leagues away—in the Blue Mountains. You'll have to find another leverage point, I'm afraid."

"Oh, then the dwarflings in my possession are not yours?" Thranduil leaned closer and whispered in Thorin's ear, "Then I'm sure you don't mind if I...play with them a little."

"Decidedly not mine," Thorin tried to keep his voice steady. "But I do feel for them, stuck here in this place. I do hope you'll be more hospitable to them than you've been to me."

In the dark cell, the elf sat back. He loved the way they had bound Thorin, on his knees, hands tied together penitently, hunched forward so that all day, everything he saw was soil and sunlight. "For an honored guest with the best arrangements under my castle, that wasn't a nice thing to say. Very well. I will start with the youngest."

He loved this game. Reaching for something, he threw Kili's bracers to the floor in front of his prisoner. And they were unmistakably his. "A memento," he said, "From the youth you've just condemned. We will meet again tomorrow."

After the imperious elf had gone, Thorin placed his fruit aside as if it meant nothing that he'd hardly eaten in a fortnight. He caressed the leather on the bracers and brought up a mental image of his headstrong nephew, a captive to Thranduil. "Be strong, Kili," Thorin said softly. "Be strong, but don't anger him."

\- - - - - 

In his sleep, Kili shifted and his elbow prodded Fili's thigh.

The blonde whimpered in agony, rousing from his thin, non-restful fugue. No medical treatment had followed their encounter with the spiders. While the puncture wound on Kili's shoulder seemed to be healing with relative ease, Fili's injury was festering, oozing foul smelling green and yellow fluid.

He'd tried in vain to clean it on his own with water brought by his captors, but clearly something stronger was required. "Please," he'd begged in a hushed voice to the elf who'd brought their food earlier while Kili was asleep, "can you help me tend to my injury?" He'd torn his trows away from the punctures and shown it to the guard, but he couldn't be sure the haughty creature had actually seen. Or cared.

_Separate me from my brother if you don't intend to aid me,_ his feverish mind supplied. _For I cannot bear the idea of him watching me die like this._

He tried not to drink so much of the water, for he knew he had to share it with Kili, but the fever had made him incredibly thirsty. Perhaps Kili was on to something. The food seemed to make his brother sleepy and forgetful. Perhaps just a few bites. Fili found his shaking fingers closing around a small square of bread. He popped it into his mouth and chewed, chasing it with more water.

Moments later, he'd fallen into a deep slumber, huddled against Kili for warmth.

Kili knew, of course. He'd pulled Fili closer against him and wrapped his arms around him almost immediately, but the shaking wouldn't be put at bay. He'd looked at the guards with big, pleading eyes. They showed no emotion as they looked upon their captives and the fallout of the encounter with the spiders.

So he batted his eyes in confusion when one finally replied, and in the common tongue no less.

"You look desperate, young one. Are we not treating you well?"

The tall, statuesque shape of Thranduil appeared in front of the bars. Like it was magic of a world long lost, the bars bent sideways like saplings in a storm to let him through.

Fili awoke at the sound of his brother's voice. "Kee?" he asked hoarsely. "Is everything all right?"

"No!" Kili whispered, pulling his eyes away from the elf in their prison cell. "You're not all right, and if you're not, I'm not."

Then he turned back to Thranduil. "Can you help him?" he begged. "It's the spider bite. The venom doesn't want to leave his system. I, I think—"

But Kili didn't want to admit out loud in front of his brother that he believed the venom to grow worse until it became the end of him. He didn't want to think about it. The meaning was not lost in translation as Thranduil took it in however, and he inclined his head.

"Do you love him, young one?" he asked.

Kili flustered. "What?"

"Your brother. You would do anything for his safety, would you not?"

Fili did not like the tone of this haughty elf's voice. "Kili..." he squeezed the younger's arm gently but firmly.

"Nearly anything," Kili spoke louder than Fili as he addressed the elf. "You're the one in charge here, aren't you?"

The brashness in his words was so youthful that it surprised Thranduil. He crouched down next to them, his back straight and even as he lowered himself to the level of the two dwarves seated on the floor, he held an air of supremacy.

"I'm the one in charge here," he nodded. "I will help your brother, but it comes at a price."

Thranduil paused.

"Kiss me," he said at last.

"By the Maker, no!" Fili protested. "Kili, this is madness."

"A kiss for your life," Kili reasoned to his brother, after the initial shock wore down. He didn't like it, but all things considering, Thranduil could have asked for things a lot worse. The only downside was that here was Fili, conscious and present, and kissing Thranduil in front of him would break Kili's heart. "I would pay it any day," he whispered.

Fili's chest was tight with anger and fever. "It's what he asks now," he eyed Thranduil warily. "But he'll ask for more. And more, until he breaks you. You need to leave us, _now_ ," he told the elf. He sounded much less threatening than he had hoped to.

"But it'll get worse!"

Kili made up his mind. Though he didn't like to do it, he carefully removed himself from partially under Fili and got up. Brushing off his knees, he looked up at Thranduil, who had raised himself to his full length as well.

"Not in front of my brother. Lead me."

"Kee...no. Please, don't do this," Fili begged a final time, but Kili had already vanished with their captor. "Oh, Kili," he sighed, downing more water. "Be strong, nadadel."

Thranduil led Kili to another area. They moved in total darkness, unbound, so he explained, "You will not leave this place unless I will it. You're in my palace, and its doors listen only to me. If you flee, your brother will die. Follow me, young one."

He finally stopped in a single beam of light and looked down calculatingly. Kili looked afraid; timid and unsure of himself. It was exactly how Thranduil wanted him to be. He cast one look into the darkness, where Thorin sat, with baited breath, before he swooped down and pushed his lips forcefully against Kili's.

Kili didn't know what to do. He felt absolutely repulsed by the kiss, yet he forced himself to accept it. His heart was hammering in his throat. He didn't understand. Why here? Why in this location, with no one around? Unless Thranduil had plans. Kili gasped at the implication of that.

Thorin's hands, bound to the arms of the chair he was seated in, balled into fists and his guts churned angrily. But he couldn't call out. Kili couldn't see him there, lest he endanger his nephew. He seethed silently.

Thranduil put on a show. His hands cupped the young dwarf's cheeks and held him there when Kili already wanted to pull back. He forced his physique forward, pushing Kili out of the light and back into the darkness. "Good boy," was the last thing that Thorin heard him whisper.

Thorin was forced to swallow his scream.


	2. As Equals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter full of interesting revelations. And sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorny still can't believe she wrote Thorin/Thranduil. And liked it.

Thranduil delivered Kili back to his cell a good half an hour later. He took one look at Fili, smirked, and left. At his bidding, another elf stepped forward and pushed a container of ointment forward through the bars across the floor.

"For his wounds," he said.

Kili sat shaking as he stared at the elaborate silver box.

Fili was terribly relieved that his sibling had been returned. He reached for Kili's trembling hand and took it in his own. "Brother?" he asked. "Did he harm you?"

Large eyes looked back at him. Slowly, Kili shook his head. Thranduil hadn't. Though the kiss had been forceful and, well, terrible, it had only lasted briefly. But Kili couldn't explain how that short encounter in the dark had taken them half an hour. He didn't want to talk about it with the person he'd longed to kiss in Thranduil's stead for so long. Kili felt like he had betrayed his brother. 

He looked down. "It's fine."

Fili didn't believe him, but felt he'd been put through enough. "Let's see what's in that box," he entreated, changing the subject. _It had better have been worth the pain you've been through, nadadith._

"Fee..." Kili dared to look up. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but he had to see Fili's response with his own eyes. For so long had he wanted his brother and kept silent about it. He needed to know if there wasn't any chance, no matter how small...

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No, Kili," Fili pulled himself to a sitting position. " _I_ am sorry. You did this for me. In hopes of helping me. My heart is breaking imagining his hands on you," his eyes welled with tears and they burned as they coursed down Fili's cheeks. "I—I wanted to leap upon him and break his neck."

Kili chuckled through his own pain. His heart was warming. The protective tone in Fili’s voice, the tears...they were good signs. "He wasn't my first choice either, if that makes you feel better," he admitted. "Still isn't."

"I should hope not," Fili smiled softly. "You could have your pick any of us. Er, of our kind, I mean." Even in the dim light, Kili could tell he was blushing. "The medicine, Kili. Let us see if it was worth your sacrifice."

Just like that, Kili lost his chance to tell his brother that he loved him. His smile faltered. If only Fili'd given him a sign; anything so irrefutable that Kili's confession would stand no chance to create a rift between them. Kili had thought it had been coming; now, with Fili's idle play at suggesting he could have anyone, he wasn't so sure. Kili didn't want his pick of the lot of them; he wanted only one.

He looked down as he screwed the lid off and gestured Fili to lie down.

"Remember," he said, "The best medicine always stings the worst." It was something their mother used to say. Then he tried one dab of the yellowish salve on a small patch on the back of Fili's hand. When it didn't burn or make Fili squirm, betraying no potential poisons, Kili tried it lightly on the wound.

"Thank you, Kee," Fili said softly. "It doesn't hurt. What hurt was seeing you willingly led away by that odious elf," he confided, placing a hot hand on Kili's forearm. "I was so afraid you might not return. That would have killed me faster than anything."

"Not willingly," Kili busied himself with the salve so that he didn't have to look at Fili. "But you were dying. I didn't want to say it out loud, because that would make it real. I was losing you. I can't lose you. If I'm forced to kiss the elvenking to assure your life, it's not a hard choice to make."

The swelling around the wound was starting to abate as the venom forced its way out through the puncture. The stench that accompanied it nauseated Kili to the point of gagging. But it worked. His brother would live.

"Ugh," Fili shuddered when the smell reached him. He felt his body preparing to rally one final time against the toxin. "Kee?" he pulled his brother down next to him. "I need to tell you something important," he said gently.

Large eyes looked up to him. "What is it, Fee?" Kili asked him.

"You were right. We could conceivably die here, Kili," the blonde told him, wrapping an arm around his brother's waist and laying his head on Kili's shoulder so he wouldn't have to look him in the eye. "I have been a terrible big brother to you," he admitted. "I've played tricks on you and left you behind so many times when I knew you wanted to be with me. I've said things...horrible, horrible things I wish I could take back..."

Kili closed his eyes sadly. "Where is this coming from? You're not going to die. I won't let you. Please, don't talk about this like it's our final stop. You've done nothing to regret."

"I have _everything_ to regret, k'hai," Fili admitted softly. "I have been lying to you for years and years now."

"Fili?" Inquisitive eyes tried to search out his. Kili sure where this was coming from, and while part of him hoped, other parts dreaded what he was about to hear.

Fili swallowed back his fear, and caressed his brother's hair with one hand. "Kili, I love you. In ways that I absolutely should not."

All of a sudden, Kili didn't know what to do. His mouth felt like parchment—or he suspected it did, as he'd never tasted parchment, but knew not what else to compare it with—and his heartbeat picked up. He stumbled over his first few syllables when he responded.

"Then—I've lied to you too." Kili grinned stupidly. "I thought you would hate me for it if I ever told you. When we bathed under the waterfall in Rivendel...Oh, you tested me there."

"T-tested... _you?_ " Fili raised his head and locked eyes with his brother. "Are you telling me that...that..." Fili didn't know what to say. Years of shame, fearing the reactions of Thorin, his mother, and—worst of all—Kili, fell away like husks. "You feel the same?" he asked, daring to hope, even in this dark place.

"Of course you did. Do you not remember how you stood under the waterfall bare naked, noticing nothing around you?" How Kili had wanted him then. "Is it because of the elvenking that you tell me now?" A joyous expression glossed over Kili's previous worry. It reached his eyes and became impossible to deny. "I love you, brother. Much more than I should, but is impossible to stop."

Fili let out a sound that was half delirious laughter and half sob, then clapped his hand over his mouth. When he had composed himself, he lowered the hand. "Oh, Kee," he sighed, eyes luminous. "Tell me I am not hallucinating this."

Kili shook his head. "You're not. I'm here, and if you want me to tell you again after the venom is out of you, I will tell you again and again until there's no doubt that I mean this."

Gently, and bearing a patience he hadn't known he possessed, Kili kissed Fili's forehead.

\- - - - - 

He'd eaten the pear, but saved the apple in case Thranduil decided to again withhold him food. His knees were throbbing. He was no longer sure he'd be able to stand on his own, given the opportunity. He was almost relieved to hear the sound of approaching feet, when they came.

For a long time, Thranduil offered him no words. "...I am no longer interested in your truth, Thorin," he declared when the silence became thunderous. "You may eat and stand up. I have no interest in the many lies required before you speak to me of truth. You will however remain my prisoner, and I will tell you of the things befalling your kin."

Thranduil walked out and into his throne room. Two of his guards advanced on Thorin as he was forced to look at his back. They pulled him up to a standing position and forced him to follow.

"Your nephew appeals to me," Thranduil spoke when Thorin was brought before him and chained to a heavy ring at the base of his throne. "I long to see what more he has to offer."

"Monster," Thorin spat, using both hands to attempt to rub a cramp from his left calf. "You deserted my people at their darkest hour—and now you would torture a dwarfling! How can you hold up your head and call yourself a king?"

"Torture?" Thranduil queried. "I have not talked about torture. However, I gave you the chance to change his fate well before I looked his way, and now you seek to deprive me of one of very few good things accompanying your arrival among us has given me? He is but a child, you're right, but in my eyes no less a child than you."

"To force him to be physically intimate...with you? I cannot think of a more horrible torture," Thorin hissed, as the cramp in his calf finally loosened. 

"I said nothing of forcing him," coldly spoke Thranduil, who remembered diplomatic visits to the halls of Thorin's lineage at the height of Erebor's power, as well as a forbidden desire to stake a claim on the eldest prince, nearly extinguished by years of enmity, and now strangely wounding when barbed by those words.

"What leverage did you use to coerce him, then?" Thorin met the elvenking's eyes. "You forget, I was watching yesterday. I know my nephew. He was not a willing participant in your game."

Thranduil laughed. "There are ways to influence a creature of weak control," he said. "And then there is his brother. Your youngest sister-son would do almost anything for his brother." He looked up at the thicket of leaves. "I will seduce him easily, then lead him into my chambers and have him strip for me, naked as the day he was born. If he's adamant that it's not me he wants, I'll offer him his own brother. You see, he'll get a choice. I am no monster, Thorin."

"Incest. I should have known that too was in your bag of tricks. With your long life spans, I should imagine you often get bored enough to schtupp your siblings. But we dwarves do not," Thorin retorted defiantly.

"Oh, you don't?" Thranduil shrugged. "Such a pity. Your lives are short enough as they are. What a waste do deny yourselves something like that. But if you'd rather have me take him instead of young Fili, I can live with that."

It was a bit disappointing that Thorin hadn't once asked him not to do it. He truly was going to leave his nephew in the clutches of his enemy, rather than lay down his pride.

"I would rather you handle this like a king and not a commoner. Have you no shame?" Thorin cried. "You would use the love of brothers against one another? Why not turn that anger on me, _highness?_ " he spat. "Show me what a monster you are instead of taking your depravity out on two innocents?"

Yes. Thranduil raised from his throne in greed. Finally.

"You would bend the knee in order to spare your nephews? You, stubborn prince of Durin?"

"I would die before I'd allow you to defile them," Thorin told him. "On my life."

Thranduil had him. He brimmed with accomplishment that he made sure to show. He had the most prideful of dwarves in his clutches, like should have been the case so long ago already. There was no victory sweeter than this.

"I accept your trade," he inclined. "Tonight be the time. You should rest, for there will be none later."

Two of his guards came and undid his shackles, before they led him away.

Tonight.

Of course, not immediately. Thorin had to wait for it. Thranduil wanted him filled with either dread or anticipation. Or both. It would make the conquest so much sweeter.

The Dwarven prince cast a withering look back over his shoulder as he was hurried away that had the power to kill.

It raised naught but a smile.

"Have him bathed," Thranduil called after them loud enough for the words to reach Thorin.

Thorin would not have minded the warm, sweet smelling water, if it weren't for the presence of his captors. They were discrete enough to turn their backs at appropriate times, but their mere presence only served to remind him of what sneering Thranduil had planned for him.

Still, he thought, squaring his shoulders, it mattered not what happened to him, if it meant his sister-sons would be spared the humiliation. He carried this thought with him as he was led to Thranduil's chambers later that evening.

The room was, for all the word could mean, empty. From the ceilings draped some fifty veils, and in the center stood an oaken bed, its bark still clinging to the raw wood and digging into the river stone floor like it had been grown from four separate trees. But there was no one present until the grand doors shut and a melodic voice finally revealed its speaker.

"There you are." A string of incomprehensible words followed, for Thranduil knew of the dislike of Thorin Oakenshield for anything elven.

"To your knees, king under the mountain."

Finally the fair elf revealed himself. His choice of attire wasn't bad; he wanted Thorin to want him, and so he had chosen on an autumn orange in his open robes as well as in his crown, and nothing underneath.

Thorin cursed himself inwardly at his immediate reaction to Thranduil, which was one of allure. All elves were attractive, he reasoned. He couldn't be blamed for this. Keeping the faces of his young nephews in mind, he dropped to his knees, pulling the while silk dressing gown he'd been supplied with self-consciously around himself.

Thranduil strode closer. He did not stop until he stood in front of him, looking down with his nakedness on open display. "Very good," he whispered. "I thought you would not live to see the day you laid down your pride." A sound like the wind rustling reached Thorin's ears, before Thranduil's robe fell off his shoulders.

Thorin felt incredibly uncomfortable, but answered, glaring at the king of the elves. "I am proud, but I am not heartless. My kin, my _heirs,_ are as sons to me. I would make any sacrifice to ensure their well-being."

"To ensure the continuation of your lineage," Thranduil corrected. No doubt he loved the dwarflings, but his line was stubborn, and Thranduil a considered enemy. Thranduil would not have gotten this if they were not Fili and Kili, so obviously in love with each other and yet in need of a push. Thorin knew nothing of the hearts of his own kin.

"Take off your clothes," he commanded.

"Because I _care_ for them," Thorin retorted coldly. He was not ashamed of his body, but he was ashamed of the position and circumstances in which he now found himself. His hands trembled momentarily as he began undoing the drawstring of his dressing gown, but he quickly got them under control.

The thin, soft garment fell away easily.

"They are neither gold nor a mountain," Thranduil spoke as he knelt to his knees and looked him over—as if those were the only things Thorin cared about. Yet contrary to his cold words and the obvious power Thranduil held over him, he chose not to command Thorin. Instead he leaned forward himself and let his lips make delicate contact with the dwarf's neck.

Thorin startled and leaned back, eyes huge. 

"They are _everything,_ " he whispered, and swallowed audibly. "Everything in this life that is precious to me."

Thranduil quietly smiled. "Then you've learned much since we last saw one another." Where Thorin moved back, so he moved forward, until it was easy to press him to the floor and have his way with him. Thranduil straddled him and followed his hands with his eyes as they ventured a path down his chest. "Relax," he said. "You're doing this for them." 

There were a number of more soothing things he could say, but saying them would mean making himself vulnerable. He opted to test Thorin's vulnerabilities instead as his hand wrapped around his cock and took its time making it good.

"Does this disgust you?" Thranduil wondered.

Thorin looked away, eyes downcast. "My enjoyment of it disgusts me," he admitted. "That I should find pleasure—from my sworn enemy—disgusts me." He bucked into Thranduil's hand. "Were you my guest, in my kingdom, you would never be subjected to this...this...torture."

"An admirable claim." But Thorin was neither his guest, nor did Thranduil mean it as torture. Punishment, perhaps, yet for his own pleasure first and foremost. He loved this. "Then how would you treat me, soon of Thror?"

Thorin was not given the chance to reply; Thranduil kissed him fully on his mouth as he pushed his hips down and pressed their erections together. The sound that left his lips was undeniably one of pleasure.

Thorin's strong hands made their way slowly up Thranduil's milky chest and could have easily gone for his long, graceful neck to strangle him. But they did not. Instead, one crept around the back of Thranduil's head to deepen the kiss. The other stole upward and carefully lifted the crown from his head, to be deposited on the ground next to them.

"As an equal," Thorin told him breathlessly when Thranduil pulled away surprised. 

It took a moment, for Thranduil had not deemed it possible, but then he accepted how it would be and immediately swept Thorin up, to lay him down on the feathery soft bed and cover him once again. "Very well. As equals." Thorin had just given up the rights of a whole lot of things, his right to later claim that their tryst had been forced onto him among them.

He kissed him again, deeply, and breathed, "You still smell of the earth." Then his hand returned to Thorin's cock to offer it the attention it so badly needed, wringing droplets of precum from it and tipping them off with his thumb. "If we're equals, then touch me back."

Incensed from being picked up and manhandled, Thorin retorted, "And you reek of condescension, _highness,_ before he reached around the elvenking, running his fingers down the cleft between Thranduil's buttocks. "But I suppose I can get used to the smell while fucking you."

"It was a compliment," Thranduil whispered against his skin with a smirk. "No wonder you're so on edge all of the time." He forced the hand down and looked at Thorin sternly. "You're not the one doing the taking, I'm afraid. Now, I have plenty of oils that go with your scent. Or we do this the hard way."

Thorin huffed, spitting his own hair out of his mouth. He said nothing to contradict the elvenking's assertions less he endanger his nephews.

"I would prefer to end this as quickly as possible. You too would be—how did you say it?—on edge—if you were forced to wander and work for Men to earn your way. You wouldn't last a day out there, highness." Thorin told him. 

"Well, I don't. So don't count on it ending as soon as possible, crownless king." Motivated to truly take his time now, Thranduil reached for a vial of oil, uncorked it, and tried the scent. It wouldn't do. Two more were needed before he chose on a honey scent.

"Perfect." And he put some between his index and middle finger and reached between Thorin's legs. "Now, I assume that earning your way along Men doesn't mean what I hope it means, so this might sting a little. But perhaps I can help."

His words were sugar-coated euphemisms for pushing a finger inside of him while at the same time covering his cock with his mouth. Thranduil groaned. Even though dwarves were smaller, he hadn't expected him to be so tight.

"It does _not_ mean that at all," Thorin quickly corrected him, yelping the final word when the elf's finger slid into his most secret of spots. "I-I have simply been too preoccupied w-with my responsibilities. Aulë help me," he breathed, entwining a hand in Thranduil's silky hair, then pulling away moments later in shame. Tears stung his eyes as he battled with himself.

To Thranduil, it was the most gorgeous sight, yet he knew how to count his blessings and did not push it. As the finger moved further in, then out again, he decided he needed more oil. This time, he was met with less friction. His own cock twitched in anticipation.

Being old counting in centuries rather than years, his experience allowed him some tricks. So it came to be that Thranduil bunched up some of the sheets and raised them under Thorin's hips. He mercilessly pushed his legs further open and shifted his position. While one finger remained inside and the hand took over where his mouth pulled off, Thranduil prodded his tongue against his perineum. "You taste like the earth too," he hummed. "That's a compliment, before you go and call me condescending again."

"I thought that condescension was something you elves prided yourselves upon," Thorin smiled, despite himself, unconsciously raising his hips to grant Thranduil better access. "Ah...gods," he gasped. "I-I cannot allow myself to enjoy this, elf!" he moaned, but did little to stop the events that were unfolding.

Thorin could barely recall the last time he had been touched by a lover. Then, when he did remember, it only added to his pain to picture Frerin's beautiful brown eyes and smile. He wanted to wail with the frustration and loss he felt. Gone was his home, his father, his beautiful brother, and now, his freedom.

He bit back on the scream that bubbled to his lips and allowed Thranduil to continue.

Of course his grief did not go unnoticed. Thranduil simply gave it more of what he got, nudging a second finger on and breathing, "How ever are you going to hold me?" he wondered out loud when Thorin winced but didn't otherwise respond with a sound of pleasure. One more time he lapped at Thorin's cock, then breathed against his entrance, "Touch me. Please touch me."

Thorin was silent for a moment, and Thranduil could feel him trembling. "I feel I have forgotten how," he said sadly. "I dare not touch you, highness, for I am known to destroy things that are beautiful." His hand hovered over Thranduil's shoulder.

Thranduil had trodden on a sensitive side that he never expected would be there. What had happened to the contempt, to the hatred Thorin felt for him? Hadn't Thranduil saved his own people rather than his liege lords, so many years ago?

"Allow me to destroy you, then," he asked permission. His body was on fire. From his sensitive nipples to his dry lips; he needed it. A third finger pushed on momentarily; then it was removed and fully replaced by a wet tongue.

Thorin's body came alive, writhing in pleasure from the stimulation after so many decades of going without. One hand clutched a handful of the impossibly sheer bed linens while another ventured into Thranduil's impossibly soft hair.

_This is not happening,_ Thorin told himself. _You are not allowing yourself to be pleasured by this...this elf!_

But he was. And he wanted it, right now, more than he wanted Erebor.

"Very nice," murmured Thranduil. He needed more than this. Practically untouched, he started to work himself in pace with his tongue, until after a while he pulled off with an anguished cry and panted, "Get ready. I'm taking you now."

With hurried movements, he lined himself up, but when he pushed forward and into the heat of the dwarf under him, Thranduil toppled forward at the overwhelming sensation of it all. He rutted shamelessly as soon as he was all the way in—or as far as Thorin could take him.

The weight of Thranduil atop him nearly stole his breath, but it was also oddly comforting. His arms rose tentatively to embrace the much taller being. Even now, Thorin was berating himself as he held tightly, allowing the pain of his penetration, the perspiration and the heft of his partner to absolve him.

When Thranduil's sizeable arousal nailed his prostate, Thorin cried out with abandon and his lips sought out the elf's.

Thranduil's fingers reached Thorin's inquiring mouth sooner than his lips did. He wasn't sure this was the time to engage in a kiss. Thranduil could barely move without hurting him one way or another, and while merciless lover sounded great as a title, cruel lover certainly did not. He did all he could do to keep his urges from just taking him, consequences be dammed.

The answer proved to be easy enough. Thranduil rolled over, finally allowed Thorin the kiss, and pulled him to sit astride him. "Decide how deep you want it yourself," he said, "but do something."

Thorin gazed down at the supine elf, his broad chest heaving. Thranduil cocked his head to one side and those strange blue eyes studied him, tested him. Right now, Thorin craved more of that deep stimulation he'd felt when the elf's cock grazed his prostate. At this angle, penetration was quite deep and a just on the wrong side of painful. He ended up leaning his torso down over Thranduil's and easing an inch or two forward in order to be seated comfortably.

If anything, this position seemed to amuse the elf, as it brought their faces into closer proximity. But Thorin was past caring. He lowered his mouth to a nipple that taunted him and nibbled as he resumed penetration, wriggling until he found just the right angle. When he did, he left out a gasp and his teeth uncontrollably closed a bit sharply around Thranduil's nipple.

"So eager," said Thranduil in wonder as the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Thorin angling himself better. He'd longed for this, years ago, and it turned out so easy to remember the sentiment, as it came back to him without having to try. The day his men had run across a stranger in the woods and his eyes had fallen on the stubborn dwarf that considered him his enemy equal to a dragon, he'd known he would enjoy this. But to what extent surprised himself, too.

He showed his pleasure freely as a sharp bite tugged at his nipple. Thranduil opened his eyes half-lidded and caught Thorin's eyes. "Go ahead," he encouraged him. "You detest me, do you not? You detest what I make you do."

This time, Thorin did not allow himself to become incensed by Thranduil's words. Instead, he thought back on his youth, when Thranduil and his delegation had visited Erebor often. He remembered Thranduil—and was in equal parts intrigued and terrified of him. So beautiful, yet so frightening.

That had not changed. And the elvenking had not aged. Thorin had grown up and acquired silver hair, yet this creature remain unchanged. That alone was something to detest. He'd be sitting, smiling on his throne, when Thorin was dust in his grave.

That alone induced Thorin to continue to derive his pleasure, impaling himself with fervor, steadying himself on Thranduil's broad chest.

It was surprisingly Thranduil who gave way first. The tightness around him, not even under influence of the dwarf's orgasm, was driving him insane. It didn't matter what Thorin did,—though Thranduil certainly found him to be intriguing in that he moved on his own volition—the natural size of his body fit poorly and made every motion overly sensitizing.

Without warning, Thranduil rolled them over in the large bed and thrust in. His pupils were large with lack of control. And when he spent his seed, they rolled back before his eyes. A cry like a distant thunderstorm ripped through the chambers.

Thranduil's passion surprised Thorin, as did the pain and pressure of the sudden change of position, only slightly assuaged by his own powerful orgasm. 

Panting, exhausted and humbled, Thorin could only whisper when the elvenking withdrew, "I hadn't expected it to be like that."

The way the elvenking cleaned himself then, before offering a wet cloth that smelled like a minty spring rain, was nearly ritualistic. He didn't speak for a long time and allowed Thorin his own cleaning patterns, before he finally said something.

"It was exactly what I expected. I thank you."

"You mean to say you expected me to make a fool of myself—to cry and come undone?" the fire returned to Thorin's eyes, but his movements betrayed a deep sadness. "The act was...most intimate, and I will admit it has been many a year since I have been pleasured by another. It overwhelmed me. This entire situation is extremely—overwhelming."

He pulled a featherlight sheet over his privates.

Thranduil stared at him with his reserved mask slipping over his features once again. But it wasn't a cold mask.

"Is what what you thought I wanted from you? To make you look a fool?"

The king sat down and leaned closer, inspecting Thorin closely.

"I would _never_ lay myself bare for something as petty as that."

That said, Thranduil got up and left the room.


	3. Escape and Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo orchestrates the company's escape from Mirkwood. Thorin has to come to terms with what he's leaving behind.

Thorin regretted his words and the fact that he was unable to adequately explain what had just happened to him here in Thranduil's bed.

What would he have said anyway? _I've often fantasized about what it might be like, your highness,_ or worse yet, _I cannot stop thinking about the love I had for my dead brother._

It was definitely better that Thranduil had left before he'd had a chance to speak.

Alone in the silence, he wondered about the safety of the rest of his company. How long Thorin sat there, he did not know, but a small voice from the shadows roused him at last.

"Psst."

When he didn't respond soon enough, it sounded again.

"Hey. Over here."

It was the sound of their burglar, although the location of his presence seemed to elude him. "Oh, come on. I know you can hear me. Come over here. Yes, near the window."

Thorin abruptly pulled the discarded robe around his body and walked toward the voice.

"Baggins?" he whispered. "Is that you?"

What he really wanted to ask was, _What did you see?_

"Of course it's me," said the irritated hobbit. "Took you long enough. I was looking for you. We've got a possible way out. Oh, the rest of us are here too. Except Gandalf, of course. That is, if you're still aboard."

"Aboard with escaping?" Thorin hissed. "Are you mad? Why wouldn't I be?"

Bilbo coughed. "No reason. Well. Are you going to be in his presence constantly? I can't get you out if they don't leave you alone."

"Gods," Thorin muttered, "I certainly hope not. Up until now I'd been in a cell." He was blushing, flustered. "Bilbo, I...I had to do this. Otherwise he would have taken my nephew instead."

"Sure," Bilbo said wryly. "Your nephews are fine. Anyway, it's not any of my business, is it? Make sure you're in your cell as often as you can be. Don't worry about the keys. I've got a plan. But be ready when I tell you to be."

"When time and place allow, I expect you to fully explain to me how you are able to walk these halls unseen, burglar," Thorin said coldly. "In the meantime, you're right. This is indeed no business of yours. Don't get caught," he cautioned in a softer tone, then turned away and strode to the doorway of the room. 

"I'd like to be returned to my cell," he told the two guards he found there.

Thorin had no demands to make within the halls of the ruler of the Mirkwood, yet it seemed that its ruler had the same wishes conveyed to his guards. "You are ready?" asked one, while the other already turned and butted his spear into the floor.

He was returned to a different cell this time around; one that was lighter, and not as cold and solitary as his previous one had been. Nonetheless there was less comfort to be had on the hard floor.

"Lord Thranduil will visit you here if he pleases," one said. "He requested we provide you with a meal of your choosing. Tell us what you desire, and we will arrange it for you."

"Meat and fruit would please me," Thorin ventured. "And my clothing, if it's to be found," he added. "Please tell the king that I would not...not deny him visitation."

One guard bowed, and they left him to his chambers.

Thorin also was not in the position to deny their lord anything, but they chose not to disclose anything. Twenty minutes later, his clothes, minus any weaponry, were returned to him freshly cleaned, and a meal was brought in. It was of the finest quality—as if it said, 'Let it be known that Thranduil is generous even to his prisoners'. And he was, really; the meal exceeded expectation.

But Thranduil did not visit him again that day.

With a full stomach and warm clothing, and Thranduil's promise not to accost his nephews, Thorin had little to do but think about what had happened while Thranduil was bedding him.

Had the Hobbit been watching? Mahal, had he seen Thorin crying and exposed? That would not do. He simply had to keep his composure.

\- - - - - 

Fili awoke, his head on his brother's chest. For the first time in many a day, he wasn't awakened by his throbbing wound but came awake naturally. His head felt clear and his fever seemed to have departed. Could the salve have truly made him well that quickly?

He sat up cautiously and examined his thigh, relieved to see the swelling had nearly receded and the bad smell that had been coming from the puncture was gone. Still, he felt dirty and weak from his battle with the venom. Nothing that rest and a bath couldn't alleviate.

Beneath him, Kili was still pleasantly asleep. For the first time since they'd been captured, he wore a smile on his face, and even the cold floor—always a pet peeve whenever they slept in the wilderness—couldn't bother him now. He didn't wake when Fili did.

He didn't when Bilbo revealed himself, either.

"Fili," he whispered. "I've found him. He's alive. Thorin's alive. You look much better."

"Mahal, Bilbo!" Fili startled. "You scared me. Thank you for finding him. Is he injured? Has the elvenking tortured him?" He sat up against the wall of their cell. "It's okay, Bilbo, you can tell me."

Bilbo didn't speak for a long time. At last he shook his head—which Fili couldn't see. "No, no. I think he's fine. He's worried about you two. The king tries to use you two as leverage to get what he wants from him. But here you are, cured from the bite."

"L-leverage?" Fili knitted his brow. He'd already witnessed the kind of behavior that resulted from Thranduil's use of leverage. "What did he make him do, Bilbo? And don't lie. I can tell when you lie. Your voice gets noticeably higher in pitch."

"...Protect you," Bilbo said. "I'm sorry, Master Fili. It's not my thing to say, especially because I'm not sure about Thorin's feelings on the matter." He smiled. "How are you and your brother?"

Fili sighed. "All right, I suppose. Sore...confined. But, blessedly, together. We are luckier than most, I imagine."

"Aye. I'm at least glad to say everyone's in good health though. And a good thing too; be ready to leave as soon as you can. I think I can get something working in a few days' time."

Kili roused in his sleep, and mumbled something to himself, but he still didn't wake.

Fili smiled down at his brother lovingly, smoothing Kili's unruly hair with tenderness. "We'll be ready, Mr. Boggins. Just tell us what we need to do," Fili assured him.

Bilbo smiled at them sadly. Locked in the dungeons of the autumn forest, they all seemed to be finding someone else. He shook off the wisp of his own budding loneliness and forced his determination to return to the surface.

"Baggins," he corrected with a hint of amusement. "You'll never learn, will you? Just be ready. There's others I should be looking for in the time I have left. I don't think Thranduil will come for either of you again. Get a good night's sleep. There's no telling when you'll get one next."

Fili nodded to assure him, even though he couldn't see Bilbo. "Please be careful. They may not be able to see you, but I assure you, these elves can hear very well. Don't get caught," Fili begged.

His stomach gave a growl and he looked about to see if there was any food. A dull red apple still sat on the wooden tray, so he reached for it and took a quiet chomp, careful not to wake Kili. He smiled as the taste exploded across his tongue, feeling optimistic for the first time in weeks.

\- - - - - 

The day passed without further visitation to Kili and Fili's cell, nor that of Thorin. It was only in the night, when the lights turned from red to a vivid tourmaline, giving the halls a nearly oceanic look, that one of them was visited by high-standing company.

"Thorin."

Thranduil looked at him from behind the bars of his cell like a silent bird of prey. He canted his head.

"You're here on your way to the mountain. To slay a dragon, and reclaim a lost title." While he stated it, the question was clear. Did he speak truth?

Thorin snorted. "A band our size—twelve dwarves, as I'm sure you've counted—slay a dragon? Surely you've partaken of too much mead, elf. Smaug destroyed our kingdom. How could a mere dozen of us begin to consider slaying it?"

To hear it said out loud made him question his own sanity in organizing the quest.

"But why else?" Thranduil's hands reached for the bars, and they slithered like live vines from his touch, only to return to their previous filigree pattern as if from memory behind him. He leaned closer. "I admit it's a fool's errand, but so is your love for its gold a fool's. Why, Thorin? Why go back there?"

"It's so very easy for you to simply sit back and be content, here in the safety of your home," Thorin told him quietly, "far from the suffering of others. I bring with me three lads who have never even _seen_ their kingdom, their rightful home. Say all you want about the lure of gold and the greed of dwarves. It is my duty to my people that drives me. My duty to my people, and most importantly, my heirs."

"Your duty to your people will get you killed." 

Thranduil tried to read him, but he couldn't. He didn't understand this obsession. "A dragon waits for you, or have you not forgotten? You would have been safe, west of these woods, and yet you venture to reclaim a kingdom you have never ruled. It is madness."

"It would be madness not to try," Thorin crossed his arms over his chest. "You cannot know the pain of losing everything in one fell swoop. And you cannot know the betrayal I felt when you turned away from us on that day."

"I cannot?" Thranduil knew very well how Thorin had interpreted his retreat, that day. But to tell that he could not know it was an insolent blow. "I have had my share of dragons long before Smaug came down from the North," he hissed. "I have seen brothers in arms die and nations be felled. Thousands of lives lost thanks to one living creature. You believe that Smaug entitles you to feel pity and a foolish claim at what now belongs to him? Tell me, king under the mountain, what do you know of bringing forth the ruin of a dragon?"

"I will not make a mockery of your pain," Thorin told him. "With a long life, surely you _have_ seen more than your share. Understand that for me to do nothing while what remains of my people are displaced, starving, scraping..." his voice tapered off. "I am their king. If I cannot save them, who can?"

Thranduil felt anger well up in him. "Your people _were_ safe. They have their lives. They are building a new world for themselves. You are throneless, aye, and the lure of gold is appealing. But a dragon's fire will burn the flesh off your bones. It is futile. Be at peace with the world, Thorin, and lead your people not toward their end, or yourself to your own. You have years in you left."

"Gold means nothing to me!" Thorin cried. "I watched gold lust corrupt and drive my grandfather to madness! I would never, _never_ allow that to happen to me. And 'building a life,' as you describe it, for my kind, has entailed becoming slaves to Men—along with other unspeakable acts that I will not mention." He grew quiet. "I can see that you and I are at an impasse. If you truly wish to stop me, you shall have to kill me. I would rather die than tell my heirs and loyal followers that we are giving up."

Thorin turned his back on Thranduil and waited for the killing blow to fall.

Instead came a soft, sad voice of reason.

"I cannot let you go, Thorin. You will bring death to these lands if you wake that monster. But I will not take your life, though it seems to be forfeit either way. You leave me no choice but to keep you behind bars. Such was never my intention."

"If you feel that is what you must do, then so be it," Thorin lowered his head in defeat. "But free my company. They will return to the Blue Mountains and end what you call 'this madness.'"

"Will they? If there's one thing I admire in your race, it's that you do not scatter with the removal of the leader like with Men."

Thranduil hated to talk to the other man's back. He was entirely within his right, and yet he was treated like he was not. He had come to see him rather than to have this conversation. The memories of earlier continued to play in his head.

"I never would have taken Kili into my bed," he spoke. "Contrary to what you may believe, I still hold respect for a heart in love, as his obviously is. Open your eyes to your kin, Thorin."

Thorin turned to face him, brow knitted. "In love, you say? Kili? Impossible. He's still far too young. My company will do as I say," Thorin assured the elvenking. "If you let me talk to them."

"Your company believes you to be dead," said Thranduil. "Your kin are old enough to die for your quest, but not enough to lose their heart?"

Thorin didn't know how to reply to this. His thoughts flew back in time to his own youth. He was far younger than Kili when his own love for Frerin was at its zenith. But Kili? In love? With someone in the company? Surely Thranduil had to be mistaken. Who in the company could possibly...no! Oh, no!

His eyes suddenly filled with understanding, as behavior he'd written off as brotherly concern suddenly began to make sense. How could he not have seen?

"Best that I should be truly dead instead of merely thought so," he bowed his head. "I have tainted my family's blood with perversity."

"Truly," Thranduil said with weary voice against his back. "It is surprising how eager you are to die. If you believe that love or lust for another is a perversity, I'd rather not hear your opinion spoken aloud. I believed you would be happy to hear of it." He raised himself and turned his head away. "A good night, Thorin. Tonight will not be the night I grant you to die, not any night hereafter."

"I would rather die," Thorin turned to him, "than fail my people. Especially my nephews. But I fear I have already damaged them in ways that cannot be mended. My own brother died for my sickness. You see, my 'gold lust' as you are so quick to call it, was not for treasure, but for him. He died in battle rushing foolishly to defend me against a warrior with far greater skills than he possessed. And now to hear my sister-sons suffer from the same affliction? I'm ashamed to have brought that curse upon them. For it will surely be the death of them."

"Then defend them!" cried Thranduil. "If you're certain your journey will eventually lead you to the accursed mountain, protect them! You and your misconceptions about love. It is no curse to love someone so wholly to give your life for that one. If your brother hadn't done so, you would be gone in his stead and he would forever condemn himself for not being able to protect you. In his memory, be proud of that which he gave you, and don't squander it. Honestly, I don't know why I even try."

Thorin wanted to rail at the elvenking, say he knew nothing of suffering. After all, he'd lived over a thousand years and would no doubt live for several thousand more. He could afford to be lackadaisical in his philosophies.

Thorin had never recovered from losing Frerin, and he doubted he ever would.

"Why _do_ you try?" Thorin wondered, laying his head against the bars of his prison, Frerin's brown eyes flashing in his mind. "I am damned."

Thranduil sighed. "Your whole lineage is cursed. I believe perhaps it's pity."

He turned and left the cell, the bars closing behind them. 

Thranduil's heart was weary. Thorin did not see, nor would he. Of sacrifice, and the value of life, and of why Thranduil had lain with him. They were causes equally lost.

With a huff, Thorin slid down the wall and sank to the floor. He felt over-stuffed and half sick from all the food he'd eaten.

Thranduil was right, of course. Thorin did feel a great deal of self-pity. But he was _not_ wallowing. He was trying to reclaim his home and give coming generations of dwarves a sense of who they were and all they could be.

And did Thranduil think he was going to disown or berate his nephews because of their love? Try to separate them? Never. _Never!_

"Stay out of my head, elf," he whispered. "And stay clear of my heart."

\- - - - - - -

The night came swiftly, and with it the sign to be ready. Bilbo hopped to every one of the cells, spread wide and far between underground, unlocking doors and telling everyone to be ready for the moment when, from each of their individual cells, they saw the moon duck behind clouds and for darkness to give them cover.

And so too Thorin was raised from his slumber in the dead of night. "It's time," whispered Bilbo. "Follow me."

Thorin couldn't explain the pang of loss he was feeling as he followed the burglar through the darkness towards the sound of lapping water.

When he was the company, among them his beloved sister-sons, together and unharmed, the pang faded.

Suddenly rang the alarm. The elves had discovered their losses and were looking everywhere. "Go on then!" he called out to Thorin who tallied behind. "We don't have much time."

And they hadn't. As soon as they were all packed in barrels and pushed down the trade route river, a lucky exit the hobbit had discovered during one of his many ventures, the first appeared behind them. Bilbo didn't have enough time to pick a barrel of his own, and so he latched onto Thorin's and hoped he wouldn't find his untimely end through an accident.

He caught one glance of Thranduil in the fray and wondered why he looked more frightened than livid.

\- - - - - - 

The ride in the barrel was cold, wet and cramped. Fili was so glad his injury had been healed in the Mirkwood prison, or he might not have been able to bear it. The bottom few inches of his barrel was filled with chilling water, but the barrel itself reeked of apples. He knew that once they'd landed—assuming they ever did—he'd always associate apples with his imprisonment in Mirkwood and this claustrophobic nightmare of a ride.

He'd called out for his brother several times during the long, churning ride, but never got an answer. When at last his barrel stopped moving, he'd fallen asleep, awakened to a circle of bright sunlight and his uncle's concerned face.

"Oh, don't give the lad a heart attack," Bilbo chided from Fili's left. He looked worse for wear, his clothes fully soaked and his entire frame sagging forward from fatigue. His own barrel ride hadn't gone so well.

He was just finishing removing the lid from the barrel that contained Kili. When he tumbled out, he immediately vomited.

Fili extended a hand to Thorin and the king helped him climb from the barrel. His legs felt full of pins and needles, but he staggered to Kili's side, falling inelegantly down next to him and placing a solid hand on his back.

"Thank you, Bilbo," he told the hobbit. "You have certainly proven your worth."

When Kili gasped and wiped at his mouth with the back of one shaky hand, Fili drew him into his arms.

Bilbo stood watching them with a weary smile next to Thorin.

"Not a word," he said when Thorin opened his mouth to speak.

Kili's hands mapped Fili's face. It took him a second, and then he laughed. It came out more of a gurgle. "We're free! You're safe, and we're no longer prisoners." In one swift movement, he pulled Fili close against his chest and breathed in his scent.

None of the other dwarves noticed; as far as they were concerned, this wasn't out of the ordinary.

"Let them be," Bilbo whispered to Thorin. "If you can't condone it, there will be time for that tomorrow, or the day after. Not today."

Thorin—sore and exhausted from the trip—looked at the Bilbo wearily. "We're all alive and unharmed," he told him, voice tight. "Whatever could I have to be unhappy with? Thank you for your quick thinking, burglar, and whatever sorcery you used to accomplish our escape. We might have rotted in that Mahal-forsaken prison, were it not for you. You are all Gandalf touted you as, and more."

Bilbo nodded his thanks, but he eyed Thorin warily. It didn't sound very much like he meant it. "Now can we please find someplace warm? I'm freezing here, and having no dry clothes isn't helping."

Thorin removed his own heavy coat and placed it gently over Bilbo's shoulders.

"It's a little wet around the edges," he apologized, "but it will shield you from the wind. As you can see," he gestured down the river, "Laketown is just ahead."

The sudden gesture caused Bilbo to stumble, and then smile truly. He pulled the coat around himself and muttered his thanks, slightly flustered. "It'll do just fine. Let's get going, shall we?"

He waited for Thorin to round up the others, tired as he was himself from hours of hard work trying to keep the barrels together and making sure nobody got lost; it caught up with him later when they had begun their walk to the town.

"I um, I saw," he whispered to him when nobody else was listening in. "I thought you should know. Not that I—well, not that I mind. That's between you two. You obviously go back a long way." He sighed. "Your secret's safe with me."

_Of course,_ Thorin narrowed his eyes. Bilbo had been watching—had gotten an eyeful of Thorin coming undone beneath the hands of that...that...

He wanted to conjure up anger at Thranduil, but all that bubbled to the surface was regret.

In front of him, Fili stumbled a bit.

"Your leg, nephew," Thorin put a concerned hand on his shoulder, "how fares it?"

"Much better, Uncle. The elves brought medicine to me to draw out the venom," he whispered so that Kili couldn't hear. "I fear I might have died without it."

"Good lad," Thorin ruffled his hair. "We'll get you to Laketown, get you some food..."

"Anything but apples!" Fili exclaimed.

"My barrel smelt strongly of cheese," Ori spoke up from their midst. But Thorin's thoughts had turned back to Thranduil.

It was night ere they arrived in town, and under cover of darkness managed to get in. 

They had planned not to go noticed, and yet they were soon found out and brought before the mayor of the town. Surprisingly, given their ties with Mirkwood by trade, they welcomed them in their midst as if they were long expected, and laden with food and drink. While imprisonment hadn't made them lack for any of that, there was a distinct improvement in it not being given while in custody. They were free to drink as they pleased, which brought many of them soon to a drunken laughter.

Kili plastered himself to Fili's side all night. He didn't drink as much. His body still couldn't stomach it and besides, he didn't want to forget one moment of being back into freedom. So he enjoyed simply being close to Fili.

Late at night he whispered something in his ear and gently tugged his brother out of the crowd. Thorin was left to watch as they left the company for solitude.

Thorin was not ashamed or disappointed with his nephews. How could he possibly be? Instead, he felt an incredible sadness akin to jealousy well up as they departed, and his heart ached fiercely for Frerin as it hadn't in years.

_Damn you, Thranduil,_ he thought, as he finished another mug of ale. _Damn you for making me feel this again._ His own body felt as if it were betraying him, for he was desperate to feel that touch again. Instead, he inquired to the innkeeper as to where he might be able to get a bath.

The people of Laketown were a generous lot, and they offered him the comfort of one of the houses usually reserved for trading partners and the elves. The luxurious springs with their open roof allowed cool snow to drop into the steaming water and not have it cool down.

Thorin did not know how long he sat there until a young elf—or young-looking at the very least—joined him and looked at him with curiosity.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

Thorin, who normally prided himself on his skills of observation, was startled. "I'm sorry," he sat up slowly, glad the worst of his nudity was still below the warm water. "I must have dozed off. No, definitely not from around here. Nor are you, by the looks of you."

"I come here often though," the elf said. "And you do not. What is your name, stranger?"

He would not disclose he was looking for a band of dwarves, and needed to know whether this one belonged to it.

Thorin immediately became wary. Despite the youth of this elf, he was still, an elf, and his kind were responsible for his company's recent imprisonment.

"I'm from the Blue Mountains," Thorin was willing to share. "Here on trade business. You can understand why I might not be willing to divulge my identity to strangers." He shifted uncomfortably in the bath. "If you'd be so kind, I'd like some privacy so that I may dry off and get dressed."

The elf nodded and studied him properly, as if committing his countenance to memory—which he was. Then he got up and left him for his privacy.

"It was nice meeting you, however brief," he said. "Perhaps we'll meet again."

They never met again, as it happened. But from that moment on, Thorin felt like he was being followed wherever he went.

\- - - - - 

Several days of delicious food and soft, shared beds passed in Laketown and Fili had never been happier in his life. How content he would have been to walk away from Thorin's suicidal quest, abscond from the duties of an heir and live out his life here. He woke each day next to his beloved brother, and each night...

The thought brought a blush to his cheeks, and he turned back to Bilbo, trying madly to focus on what he'd been trying to tell him.

"—nother elf on the roofs last night," the hobbit said. "I don't feel assured they're not onto us. Even if the people here trade with them, there's no way elves on your rooftop are merchants. Fili. Are you listening?"

Bilbo traced Fili's gaze, past a disgruntled Thorin, and sighed knowingly when his eyes met with the object of Fili's focus.

"Your brother's looking a lot better," he commented. "The wound on his shoulder is healing well."

"Kili has always been a fast healer," Fili nodded. "The venom stayed with me for some time. Oin thinks it's because I was bitten twice. Something about an artery in my leg. Doctor talk," he smiled at the hobbit and offered him some more ale.

"So, do you think we need to be concerned about these elves? Are they trying to recapture us? Spying for that odious elvenking?"

Bilbo shook his head. "They've yet to make a move. If they wanted to catch us, I'm sure they would have done so by now. It's like—" he tried to grasp his thoughts, "—it's like they're looking for something. Thorin hasn't been out much, or when he has he's been under the cover of a cloak, has he?"

"Bilbo," Fili began, as if wanted to ask a question. Then, he paused for a moment. "Did...do you..." he sighed. "Listen, while we were in the elves' prison, their king was very forward. He insisted that Kili kiss him in order to procure medicine for me. He took him from the cell, so I cannot say with certainty what really happened. Do you suppose Thranduil might have done something similar with Uncle? He's been acting terribly strange since we escaped."

The silence that followed was too long not to hold an answer by itself. Bilbo at last took a deep sigh. "I don't know." He looked at the figure of their king. "Something happened, but I'm not sure about the nature. I wouldn't be surprised if Thorin's melancholy has got to do with what he lost when he fled the woods."

"Lost?" Fili tilted his head, eyeing his uncle in a discerning manner. "You don't mean to say that he and...? N—no. No, Bilbo...you have got to be mistaken. He's melancholy because we were captured, his plans nearly thwarted. He's doubting himself. That's all."

"I do hope you're right."

They both watched as Thorin got up and excused himself early. Like he'd done every night so far.

"Perhaps it's just because we're getting near," Bilbo wondered. "The Lonely Mountain isn't that far now."

But it didn't look like that had something to do with it.

"Maybe he's become more concerned about our chances of success, now that we've gotten this close," Fili voiced his own darkest fear. "No one could fault him for that. I myself desperately want to turn around and go home—taking Kili with me," he admitted, swiping at his eyes. "Ah, this is the ale talking," he blustered. "The time in Mirkwood destroyed our confidence. We must find it again."

They had always known that at the end of their journey, they might come face to face with a dragon. Nonetheless, Bilbo patted him awkwardly on his back. He also knew that Fili's loyalty to Thorin would never truly allow him to leave.

\- - - - - 

Thorin's quarters were still dark as he entered. The door shut and bolted before a candle was lit and he removed his cloak of hiding at last.

"Thorin," came a whisper like the wind through the treetops from the corner of the bed, just in the penumbra of the candle. It was a familiar voice, and it revealed a tall elf as he moved into the light, his long hair shining and his crown tangled delicately into it.


	4. Seeker of Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Thorin have one final tryst before the company heads off to face Smaug.

"I felt you might come." 

Thorin looked up at the familiar face. "I have no magic, but I had _perceived_ it. You've come for me," he surmised, taking off his cloak and coat and placing them over a chair.

"Then you've avoided me," Thranduil opposite him concluded from what little information he was given. "You've walked around in a cloak for days. It has not been easy to track you down." He looked mildly saddened by that conclusion. "I'm not here to take you home, as a prisoner or otherwise. Do you want me to leave?"

"No," Thorin admitted. "I'm glad you've come. I feel as if we have a great deal of unfinished business—business I would rather not address in a prison cell. I'm sorry I have no food or drink to offer you, but I could send for some."

Thranduil smiled politely; it was a decent cover for his insecurity, perfected through years and years alone. "That's all right." He paused, then said, "You ran away. While I understand why, I don't yet understand how. So how, Thorin? How did you slip past my guards?"

"I don't completely understand it myself, to be honest," Thorin sat down on the chair. "You see, we'd brought along a hobbit, whom you did not capture. He possesses some extraordinary skills when it comes to stealth. He orchestrated it."

Thorin's eyes skipped to Thranduil's face, then away. "My thoughts refuse to leave you. That makes me feel very...conflicted."

"No more conflicted than I," said Thranduil as he took off his crown and placed it on the nearest table. His eyes bore into Thorin's. 

"A hobbit, you say." 

The cloak on his shoulders fell down.

"Aye," Thorin eyed the discarded crown, knowing full well what its removal signified, "an extraordinary creature whom I fully underestimated. I seem to have a give for underestimation," Thorin admitted. "And stupidity."

Step by slow step, Thranduil walked closer. The closer he got, the more of his attire was shed. "Not that stupid." A ring slipped off his finger and clattered to the floor. "You're not running from me now."

Finally, the elvenking stood before Thorin fully undressed, and waited for what he was going to do about it.

Thorin trembled when he looked up at Thranduil with unshed tears in his eyes. "I lost someone, a long time ago," he explained. "I had not lain with another since...since _him_. He was my," he swallowed, "he was to be my One. He cannot be replaced."

His eyes swept over Thranduil's frame. "I cried in your bed, not because you broke me, but because I was saying goodbye to him. Do you understand? I also meant you no disrespect. As a lover you are...quite, quite good. I was overwhelmed," he admitted. "You are very beautiful and powerful," he raised a warm hand and placed it at Thranduil's waist. "Only a fool could refuse you."

Thranduil crouched in front of him. "Where is the stubborn fool I met in my palace?" he wondered. "Where is the man who despised me for choosing my own people? It matters not to whom your heart belongs, if it still does. Think of him if you need to. I do not attempt to replace anyone, but I've desired you once in the halls of Erebor, and I desire you again. So push me away if this is not what you want, or I will have it with no regrets."

"Make no mistake, I am still a stubborn fool," Thorin smiled crookedly. "And I do wish you had chosen to help us during the attack, yet I understand your decision, even if I do not like it. And yes, I still find you haughty and detestable," he scoffed. "Even without your clothing."

Thorin threaded a hand in the elvenking's silky hair. "You scared me as a dwarfling, and you scare me still today. And yet," Thorin stepped closer, "I want you."

He drew Thranduil's face to his own and kissed him on the mouth, chastely but firmly.

This time around, there was no hurry. The night was young and neither held the other in captivity. So when Thranduil allowed the kiss, he also allowed it to take its own slow course. He didn't care he sat on his knees fully naked as he tried to further seduce Thorin by kiss alone. Tongue met with tongue and with nipping lips.

It was a delicate kiss; perhaps that was why, when they pulled apart to look at each other, Thranduil sat flushed and swollen, and couldn't be apart from him for a second longer as he crashed their lips together once again.

Thorin, meanwhile, worked to shed his all-too-constrictive clothing, pulling away from Thranduil's lips only to pull his blouse up over his head, before diving back in. It was not a battle, nor was there any aggression.

Finally, Thorin suggested, "Let us get into bed," and pulled Thranduil back to his feet, marveling at their difference in height. "I can only match you in size if we lie together."

"Not even then," denied Thranduil, who was eager enough to crawl backwards until his back met with the frame of the bed and he hoisted himself up, his legs alluringly apart without it looking too easy. Thranduil had fitted poorly and caused enough physical discomfort, last time. "Why don't we try this arrangement the other way around, tonight?"

Thorin pushed down his trousers and smallclothes, kicking them away, removing the last barrier of clothing between the two of them. Already his cock curved alertly up against his rugged stomach. It bobbed gently as he climbed onto the bed.

"Do you trust me enough to put your back to me?" Oakenshield wondered, lustily. "If you do, I'd ask that you roll over to your knees, ass in the air, and let me have a look at you."

The way Thranduil looked at him then resembled almost that of a wounded animal; ready to lash out at the slightest provocation. "Such rights need to be earned," he nearly hissed. "I want you, but make no mistake, you've given me no reason why I should trust you."

Thorin frowned. "A pity," he lamented. "You might have forgotten your mistrust with my tongue wriggling inside you." He reached towards his coat, hanging over a nearby chair. "Another method then perhaps."

Thranduil reclined further unto the bed and followed his hands with interested though cautious eyes. Though he had come here willingly, and he was intent on not backing out. He needed it too much for that. "What other method? Come here."

"It's not nearly as pleasurable as what I had in mind," Thorin told him, "but it will certainly work." He held up before Thranduil's face a cruet of oil he'd retrieved from his coat pocket. "Either way, _highness,_ if you want to be fucked, you are going to have to grant me access to your royal rump."

"Do not mock me," Thranduil warned, yet he spread his legs wider and fell back among the pillows, closing his eyes both as a token of goodwill and a way to calm himself down. Letting Thorin take control was one of the furthest things from his comfort zone that he'd done lately. Every second now, he expected it to turn around on him.

"It's a simple question." Thorin put a hand on the inside of his thigh. "Do you want this or not? I am perfectly content to allow you to fuck me again. I rather enjoyed it." The hand strayed both up and inwards. "The decision is yours."

 _"Yes."_ Thranduil opened his eyes. The fire with which he looked at Thorin burnt between them, turning the air too hot for their lungs. "You're doing this. We're doing this. So do it, Thorin." He felt still on edge like at any moment he could flee, but he stilled that reflex as best as he could. For all his fears, Thranduil wanted this. He wanted the dwarven prince before he was off to find his dragon—before it would be too late.

It took him courage, but at last he turned around under Thorin, and clenched the sheets in his hands.

Thorin did not miss the look of sadness that passed over Thranduil's feature before they returned to their typical neutral expression. Perhaps the elvenking too was fighting with inner demons.

No matter. Not now. Not when this magnificent creature had conceded control. Thorin, taking his time, poured a bit of the oil from the cruet into the dip above Thranduil's crack. He rubbed two calloused fingers through it and ever so slowly down the silken cleft between Thranduil's buttocks to his opening. He repeated this a few times until he felt the muscle relax enough for him to slip the tip of one finger inside.

The lack of foreplay, as he had not expected, caused a jerk to run through Thranduil's frame. He stilled, his heart beating at the suddenness, until he willed himself to calm down and raise his hips. "You strike a hard bargain," he whispered hoarsely, "son of Thror."

It took Thranduil time but, when he finally accepted the situation, his eyes fluttered close and he sighed out. "Go on." For it felt good.

"I have been longing to do this since the day we left Mirkwood," Thorin told him. "It's as if you have me under some sort of spell. Don't fear me, Thranduil," he spoke the elvenking's name aloud to him for the first time. "I don't mean you any harm."

The slick digit ever so slowly sank into Thranduil to the knuckle, and Thorin placed a steadying hand on the pristine, pale skin of Thranduil's back. 

Long white hair cascaded down Thranduil's shoulders and back. When he moved his head to look at Thorin and all the things he was doing, he first had to push the tresses aside. For a moment he laughed, and it was both nervous and warm, and so very unlike his cool exterior caused others to expect from him.

So very unlike the centuries he had lived, for that matter.

There was no physical strain for him, so Thorin could advance, should he choose to. But Thranduil liked the sensation, as fleeting and sensitive as it was, so he pleaded, "Don't —don't stop," and sought out Thorin's eyes with his own.

"I do not plan to," Thorin told him. "Not until we are both sated. Perhaps more than once, if it pleases Your Highness." A second digit, equally slick and firm, joined the first.

While Thorin slowly scissored those fingers, he felt the uncontrollable urge to lean down and smell Thranduil's hair. It smelled of the forest, and of some sweet, exotic spice Thorin couldn't quite place. He twisted his hand around until he found a squishy mound of tissue inside him. How curious that the males of so many races possessed it. And how fortunate.

Thranduil at once cried out and his body convulsed. His wide eyes looked at Thorin in surprise. There was more, far more, to this dwarf than he'd assumed. So young, and yet he knew—Oh. His eyes soon squeezed shut again in favor of surrendering to the feeling. 

Thranduil's hips pushed off the sheets and further unto the fingers. A deep rumble of a moan escaped his throat. "You amaze me," he said. "Lean closer, so that I may touch you too." His hands were continually just out of range to do anything and it vexed him.

Thorin easily moved closer to Thranduil's left side and breathed wetly in his ear, "Yes, _highness,_." His lips lingered there as he continued to massage Thranduil's inner walls, occasionally slipping out to gather more oil. Soon, a third finger had joined the others and he could feel the elf literally shaking beneath him. "It pleases you, then? What these blacksmith's hands can do?" He took the tip of Thranduil's pointed ear into his mouth and laved it, enthralled by its shape.

"Greatly," gasped the elvenking. Loath as he was to confirm it, Thorin—a creature as proud and haughty as he himself in many ways—calling him his Highness did things to him. He writhed and begged shamelessly for more, his fingers seeking out Thorin's own arousal. As soon as they wrapped around it, they didn't let go.

The size, too, surprised him. Almost as big as his own people. Based on their considerable height difference, it stirred something good in his gut, and his fingers moved with something not unlike devotion, stroking the shaft in preparation for what was to come.

"You expected something smaller between my thighs."

This wasn't a question, but an assumption. Thorin bucked into the huge hand, concerned that his over-eagerness might make him come too quickly and ruin their tryst. Making Thranduil come undone so easily surprised him. Clearly the elvenking had been thinking on this moment as well. That pleased him, as did the small noises of pleasure he was able to wring from Thranduil. 

"I think it's time we joined," Thorin told him, pondering the mechanics. "Will it be on your back, or would you ride me?"

"Does it surprise you that I expected something more befitting of your size?" Thranduil's voice grew hoarse. But he wasn't complaining—merely regretting not having noticed it the first time around. He now eagerly pushed back to bring Thorin deeper, brushing that spot with tantalizing infrequency, but his fingers were obviously not the size of his manhood, and they weren't nearly deep enough.

"Mount me," he said, "but let me turn to around first." Thranduil told himself that it was so he could reach Thorin better, but he didn't fool himself in that it was to look at him too. He felt not the least bit ashamed of it when he showed the dwarf just how aroused he was; Thranduil looked flustered and far too clouded in lust for it to be normal. One look at him betrayed that he was willing to do anything.

Thorin licked his lips unconsciously at the sight of Thranduil's arousal. Here, between the elvenking's parted thighs, he felt their size difference most strongly. Still, he didn't hesitate to slip his hands under Thranduil's backside and slip a pillow beneath, putting his winking opening on display. 

"It arouses me to see you without so much composure, Highness," Thorin told him, reaching for the oil and coating his own erection generously. He found the trickles of perspiration especially intriguing. "You are a lovely, lovely creature," he said softly, in a voice akin to wonder. 

Smiling, he lined up and pushed the head of his cock just inside Thranduil's channel.

He could have known by the way Thranduil moved when he was breached that he was a man dying of thirst. At once both legs wrapped around Thorin's hips and, without space for denial, pulled him further in. At their deepest reach, Thranduil jerked his hips and fully brought Thorin's cock sheathed. He sighed in bliss. Arms fell above his head and he chewed on his own lips wantonly, his pink tongue peeking out whenever he wanted to truly drive Thorin crazy.

"Fuck me," he challenged. "Show me what you're made of, Seeker of Dragons."

Thranduil's desperation was palpable in his face, his body language—even his scent. It both aroused and frightened Thorin. 

_Seeker of Dragons,_ Thranduil had called him. He knew Thranduil, despite obviously finding him appealing, felt he was a fool. In Mirkwood, the elvenking had made a mockery of Thorin's quest — his hopes, his dreams, his birthright.

Suddenly, Thorin felt anger surfacing that he thought he'd repressed. Why should this elf receive pleasure in his bed when he'd imprisoned them, molested his nephew and refused to help the dwarves in their most desperate hour?

Before he knew it, he was fucking Thranduil with some degree of force, each thrust a manifestation of his anger. He would not apologize. The elvenking would either be pleasured or pained. Either way, Thorin would be sated.

The rage was conveyed without Thranduil needing to see Thorin's expression for it. Where before Thorin had been reverent, a silent need to hurt now underlay every thrust, boring deep into him. Thranduil couldn't help it. He felt both wounded and incredibly aroused by it—and ashamed upon realizing the notion—and raked his mind as to what had caused it.

"Crownless king," rolled from his tongue in trial. 

"A crown is but a hat," Thorin retorted, making a concerted effort to nail Thranduil's prostate three times in rapid succession. "Some of us gain respect without a throne, a crown or magic,” he grunted. “Sanctimonious dress-wearer!"

"They're robes!" Thranduil cried in both indignation and ecstasy, as his nails dug into Thorin's back, and made no effort to be gentle about it. Despite the effect that Thorin was having on his body, there was this thing called pride, and it propelled him to hiss back, "Lover of stone."

"Tree hugger!" Thorin tossed one of Thranduil's legs over his shoulder and pounded him mercilessly. 

Seemingly on its own accord, one of Thorin's hands situated itself gently but firmly over the elvenking's long, white throat. "I wonder," Thorin raised his eyebrows. Will you come first...or pass out?" He increased the pressure ever so slightly, just enough that Thranduil couldn't draw breath.

Thranduil couldn't do anything else. He panicked. Forgotten were the words. Never before had he thought Thorin to be able of this, to threaten him so physically. Hands clasped at the hands around his neck, while his eyes widened and turned desperately on Thorin.

He didn't know how it happened, but when air became scarce and he heaved for it, yet still it was restricted from him, his panic turned to livid anger. How dare this dwarf? How dare he take him as a lover and then turn on him this way? Hadn't Thranduil bared himself fully, given him everything?

The strength of a berserker rose in him, and Thranduil dislodged Thorin and pushed him harshly on his back. He straddled him and impaled himself immediately. "Trust not the dwarves," he spoke viciously. "You leave me no choice but to take from you that which I came here to be given willingly."

"The other option," Thorin gasped as Thranduil fucked himself on his impossibly turgid cock, "would have been to just enjoy the pleasure that comes from not having enough air while climaxing. If I wanted to kill you, I would have throttled you with both hands—and harder. Much harder." His eyes were full of steel. 

"Despite our families' dealings during much better times, there is no trust for me in your heart—if you even have one—nor will there ever be," Thorin was forced to admit, with sadness. "There is only condescension and whatever twisted lust brought you here. I was a fool to think I could convince you to be an ally—to come with me and support me in my quest!"

He planted both hands on the elvenking's chest and tried to push him away, to no avail. The union he'd longed for had become another mockery.

Thranduil sat there only for as long as it took for Thorin to understand that he was the stronger one between them; not Thorin. As soon as the other gave up, he moved off at once and to his discarded robes. Thranduil didn't put them on. In his eyes, every word, every accusation Thorin had thrown him, was proved false. He felt hurt.

"Twisted lust, it is," he spoke in disgust. "I should have known better. Are you so stubborn you've become incapable of looking with your eyes?"

"To look at you, I believed you came here for the same reasons as I when you first arrived," Thorin told him sadly, covering himself with a blanket from the waist down. "Yet I am a freak to you—an eccentric curiosity you don't understand. You would try to bend my actions to your will when it comes to my own kind. While I defer to your age and your experience, _Highness,_ respectfully, you don't know me."

"You are something I both desire to possess and something I can never claim," corrected Thranduil with equal sadness. "Based on your years, you should be nothing but a child to me, but you're right. I don't know you. The lover I expected to find would not have wrapped his hands around my neck. I don't claim to know you. I would appreciate the same in return."

"I speak only to your actions," Thorin sat up to face him, "for I can not begin to know what goes on inside your mind. Do you think I don't know I'm traveling to my death? I know this. And I would rather not spend what time I might still have left fighting with you as if we were an old married couple."

"I would rather not have you die." Thranduil looked at him. He walked closer to the bed, though with such steps as if he expected to step on glass any time now. "No amount of gold is worth seeing you burnt alive. But you will go, and there's no way I can change your mind. Do you hate me, Thorin? I don't want to leave, but I will if you do."

"I spent a long time hating you, Thranduil, I must confess," Thorin lowered his head, "but I no longer do. I have spent the time since leaving Mirkwood trying to accept and understand your choices and your beliefs. While I will never agree with them across the board, I do not hate you. In fact, I feel that, under better circumstances, I could..." he paused then, afraid to confess more to a sovereign who already viewed him as weak.

Thranduil placed a finger against Thorin's lips. He was glad enough for the knowledge that he wasn't trying to make things right with a man who hated him. "How about, for tonight, we stop talking? Forget we are who we are? I still want you, and I'm tired of the politics between us." He leaned forward and kissed Thorin gently on the lips. "No more hands around my neck either, and I promise you the reigns."

"I don't require the reigns," Thorin told him. "I just wish to lie with you, before I am off to face Smaug." He slid aside, making room for Thranduil to join in him the bed. "Could you grant me that...Thranduil?" 

And Thranduil crept onto the bed, straddling him momentarily, before he lay down himself and propped himself up on his elbows. "That's why I came," he said. "So come in me. I'm ready to have you." He smiled softly to himself. "Put those blacksmith's hands to use. I quite liked what they did."

Thorin's blue eyes studied Thranduil's face, and softened as they found no malice or mockery there. He reached out a tentative hand to push the curtain of platinum hair away from the elvenking's neck, checking for a bruise he did not find. "I wouldn't have hurt you," he repeated, and leaned in to kiss the spot he'd only recently assaulted. "Please, believe me," he begged, his hot mouth laving the underside of Thranduil's smooth jaw, hand sliding down his chest to cup his flagging erection.

Thranduil did not, in fact, believe him, but he kept that fact to himself. If he voiced his opinion, Thorin would probably take it the wrong way; Thorin's anger had been experienced as rather pleasant, up until the hands around his neck. Instead, he pulled his lips onto his own and tugged on the other's lower lip with his teeth. Legs easily parted under the ministrations and far too soon, Thranduil found his body again begging for more. He reached for Thorin's cock, gave it a firm squeeze, and guided it closer to his entrance.

This time, his eyes stayed open as he watched through lidded eyes how Thorin's body moved on top of his own. It was tantalizing to see the rough hairy skin in contrast with his own alabaster. He longed to be broken by that body.

Thorin again seated himself inside the elvenking, this time being more cautious. Everything about Thranduil cried out to be dominated, but he couldn't handle another round of rejection. Slowly, he began to move in, out, sliding one of Thranduil's long legs over his shoulder and holding the thigh firmly in place. The other hand he planted beneath Thranduil's armpit, slipping his hand underneath to hold the elf in place while fucking into him.

Slowly but steadily, pressure built up again inside of Thorin. He tried to share that high with Thranduil, pivoting his hips so that his cock found Thranduil's pleasure center repeatedly.

It was going slow that proved far more effective. Soon Thranduil was panting, biting his lips whenever his core was found, and making delicate sounds of desperation. The friction between them turned him on incredibly. "You feel good like this," he breathed.

Thranduil felt himself suddenly saddened when he realized he wouldn't have this again. In a few days, Thorin would be leaving his strategic allies. The only reason Thranduil hadn't taken him into custody and dragged him back to the woods was because he'd get a lot of trouble for it, doing that to esteemed guests of their trading partners. Diplomacy was ever a thorn in his side, and now it proved to be bothersome even more so. 

And then Thorin would leave to find a dragon. They were most likely never going to do this again.

Before he knew it, he whispered against Thorin's ear, "I don't want to lose you."

Thorin pulled back to gape at him, eyes wide at the sentiment. "We all have to die sometime, highness," he smiled crookedly. "You'd lose me in a hundred years, regardless. That's just a drop in a goblet for you." But the tenderness was not lost on Thorin. "Try not to think upon it, elvenking," he caressed the thigh slung over his shoulder as he stilled inside him. "Think instead upon _this._ " and he angled his hips, sinuously gyrating again and again. His long hair, rapidly becoming wet with perspiration, clung to his face, and Thranduil's chest.

A hundred years would still be better than a hundred days, though they both knew that such an outcome was probably not in the stars for them. So Thranduil took willingly. He bucked up at every thrust, faltering whenever Thorin found his most private of spots, and licked his lips whenever sounds threatened to spill. He was a quiet lover—or he took no pride in lustful moans—yet the man above him was doing his obvious best to break his resolve.

When he hit deep in him and brushed his prostate three times in succession, Thranduil couldn't hold back. "Oh, for the love of all that is mighty!" he gasped, just before he pressed one hand flat against his mouth and soon took to biting his palm because he needed _something_ to do with his mouth. "Deeper. More. _Anything_."

Thorin tried not to let his amusement over Thranduil's arousal show in his face. "You needn't stay quiet on my account, _Highness,_ " Thorin panted, terribly close to climaxing in his own right. "We dwarves like a lusty cry of approval every now and again."

He stepped up his insatiable thrusting, knowing that with every controlled whimper behind that hand, Thranduil was his. Finally, when Thorin could bear it no longer, he tore that hand away, covering the elvenking's mouth with his own. 

Thranduil clung to him and kissed him with the frenzy of a man dying. His hips pushed up to meet with the wild pace, but they had trouble keeping up. Everything came to a standstill when felt it approaching like a distant thunderstorm, closing in on them faster than expected. Thranduil tugged on Thorin's lips; he bit on his shoulders and pulled him down with nails digging into his skin. Or so it might seem, though all he did was cling on to him for dear life. A cry tore from his mouth seconds before he crashed. But when he did, they could have heard the snow fall outside the room, so silent was he, but his mouth was wide open, as were his eyes.

"Let me hear it." Thranduil found Thorin's eyes, his soul bared. "Your cry of approval."

"Aulë, you vex me even now," Thorin responded, his tone not irritated but passionate. The elvenking's inner muscles fluttered and clamped around him, pulling from him a powerful orgasm. "Gods!" he groaned, hand braced on Thranduil's chest and his head thrown back as he came. Lustily riding out the last vestiges of his climax before collapsing atop Thranduil.

"Well then," Thorin sighed as his heartbeat slowly returned to normal, "if only we'd discovered this form of diplomacy long ago."

Thranduil laughed. "I've wondered about it many times in your halls in the spring of your life. How you'd feel under or in me, as you looked upon your grandfather's guests and seemed to have little interest in me. But you were a proud creature even then, and I more so. It's of no matter. I am glad and honored to have it now." His hands rested on Thorin's hips. He breathed out contentedly. "Kiss me like you would a lover and call me not _your highness._ My crown is on the table."

Thorin chuckled softly at an unbidden mental picture of Thranduil refusing to take off his crown while being fucked. But Thranduil _had_ been fucked. His chest still heaved with breathlessness and his cornsilk hair was mussed and sticking to his skin.

"I have taken very few lovers, Thranduil," Thorin told him, smoothing the elvenking's hair away from his face. "And now, whether you like it or not, you are among them." He kissed Thranduil high on his cheekbone, then pulled back to study Thranduil's reaction.

When the elvenking's face remained serene, Thranduil cupped his cheek with one hand and lay his lips against the other's, chastely at first, but building in intensity until his tongue at last gained entry. His cock gave an eager leap at the prospect of going again.

"You are insatiable," Thranduil laughed when he took notice. "So it's true what they say about dwarven lovers." He'd never had one before, nor had most of his kin, thanks to longlasting feuds and disagreements between them, but that hadn't kept some of them from speculating.

He rolled both of them around and pushed himself down to try Thorin's size. The dwarf was indeed ready to go again. Thranduil himself was still far too sensitized to go there again so, despite the protests, he pulled out.

Thorin couldn't complain much though, for Thranduil soon wrapped his lips around his flesh.

"We are known to rebound quickly," Thorin conceded. "I'm sure there's a joke in there somewhere about the forge and a hot iron." His lame attempt at humor was cut short as he gasped in pleasure. "Gods, that mouth," he managed. grasping two handfuls of sheet, trying not to hump up into the delicious heat.

With his tongue otherwise occupied, Thranduil didn't reply until he dragged another orgasm from the man, and then proceeded to kiss him with half of Thorin's load still in his mouth. By that time, he was ready to go again and licked his fingers clean as he sat on his lap, rubbing his ready backside temptingly against Thorin's slick cock.

"Come on then," he said hotly. "You have me all night."

When dawn came, neither of them had done more than briefly doze.

"Thank you," Thorin said with sincerity in the morning upon first waking, "for coming—and for staying. We won't be staying here much longer. But if you felt you might want to stay a few more days...."

Thranduil uncharacteristically couldn't keep his eyes open, lazily groaning into the pillows from where he lay. He hadn't thought he could ever be this exhausted. It took him some time to turn around, and longer still to properly wake up.

"I shouldn't be here," he said. "Nobody knows where I am. My people might be looking for me." But he wanted to stay, and so he added as an afterthought, "Let me see what I can do. For a few days."

The elvenking rolled over again and closed his eyes.

"Thorin?" he said quieter. "I hope you succeed. I hope you defeat Smaug, or never run across him. If you do, or if you ever need my help in ways that do not set my people up against that dragon, send for me."

"I couldn't bear to endanger you," Thorin smoothed Thranduil's pale hair absently with one hand, "and I never will."

His heart leapt at the prospect of spending another few days with the elvenking. He felt younger, energized and optimistic. As Kili and Fili might have been feeling at that moment. "Do find a way to stay, if you can. I don't know how the rest of the company would react to your presence, however."

"I can be your little secret," Thranduil shrugged. "But if I am, for a few days alone, then I expect the next time not to be in your bed or in your house." He smiled to himself. "I'll contact you soon. Be prepared, because I will not tell."

Thorin couldn't help smiling. "I look forward to the surprise," he said, handing Thranduil his clothing. 

As his eyes swept Thranduil's naked frame from bottom to top, he was struck with a strong desire to braid his hair. The notion brought tears to his eyes.

 _Goodbye, nadadith_ he thought to himself. _At last, I can put my longing for you to rest._

The sentiment did not go unnoticed, but Thranduil did not comment. He sat quietly and patiently, and got up only when Thorin broke eye contact. Then, he slipped into his robes, smiled at how Thorin had called them dresses like he was a lass to woo, and picked up the crown. The next moment Thorin looked his way, Thranduil gave him a kiss.

"Until we meet again," he whispered. "Look for a sign from me at the dawning of night."

Thranduil was gone before Thorin could do anything else.

Thorin, try as he might, had a hard time keeping a smile from his face that day.

\- - - - - 

"Uncle looks happy today," Fili mused to Kili as the pair ate their lunch. "It's been some time since I've seen him smile like that. Not since we left the Blue Mountains."

Kili stuffed his mouth with potatoes in cream. He laughed, never one for subtlety when there could be merriment. "Aye. And I dare say I know that look upon his face." His eyes twinkled as he spoke. "I never thought I'd see that smile on his face, save for maybe when we reclaim Erebor. I don't know who bears responsibility for it, but I'm glad for it."

Fili continued to look as if he was watching a rarely-seen animal in the wild, his own face ghosting a smile. Beneath the table, he reached for Kili's hand and squeezed it warmly, his own food forgotten.

"Are you soon done, atamanel?" the blond wondered. "We have some time before we must meet with the others." He raised his eyebrow suggestively.

"Done already," Kili tapped Fili on his nose. "Let it be known I don't let people wait." He wrinkled his nose cutely and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin—supposedly men considered it to be good manners, but Kili just loved how Fili's eyes would stay and not leave his lips for a while thereafter.

He got up and ignored the knowing look Dwalin gave them.

"You coming?" Kili asked sugary sweetly.

"Gods, yes," Fili tossed his napkin over his plate and followed his brother from the inn.

\- - - - - 

Those stolen, romantic days in Laketown were the happiest of the brothers' lives. Having finally admitted their love for one another, the days were filled with camaraderie. They rarely left one another's sides. They spent a great deal of time lying together and planning for the future. Whether it involved a state room in their ancestral Erebor or a small cottage in the woods, at least they'd be together.

The morning they finally left Laketown for the final part of their journey, winter cast them in a thick blanket of snow that got into their hair and made its way into their faces through joyous snowballs.

If Thorin cast an eye over his shoulder behind him, he would see first his nephews, and then, perhaps, if his eyesight was good and the falling snow merciful, he would see someone else. A shadow in the distance; and next to it, an elk.

Once he thought he saw it. It was gone so soon that it seemed almost a figment of his imagination.

A comfortable silence settled on him.

They'd see each other again.

**FINIS**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, thanks for reading our little Thranduil/Thorin love story. It did turn out to be a love story after all, didn't it?
> 
> Our next co-adventure will be a real-person AU that immerses the cast of "The Hobbit" into the world of international espionage.


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